


The Upper Hand

by thedevilchicken



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Banter, Bets & Wagers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Chicken, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9628385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Sam knew what he was getting into.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nevermindthecrumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevermindthecrumbs/gifts).



Sam knew what he was getting into. 

Gene said he did, too, of course he did, big man never to be outdone and all that daft crap, and Sam looked at him with a skeptical raised eyebrow and his hands on his hips as he stood there in front of the closed office door. Gene poured himself a drink (and didn't pour Sam one) with his boots up on the desk, then he told him not to be a twat about it or he'd send Ray instead and the words _Guv, you called me a pansy-arsed poofter the time I brought in that cake I baked for Annie's birthday, do you really think you'll fit in all that well down the gay bar?_ vanished out of sight and completely out of mind. The only thing worse than fake dating Gene Hunt had to be fake dating Ray Carling. It was almost surprisingly, really, given the guvnor's general disposition, that it wasn't even a close-run thing.

They met up the street from the place beforehand, after dark - just as well, with Gene screeching to a halt in the bloody Cortina like he did, never one to miss a turn for the dramatic - and then walked down to the door with Gene taking a hefty swig out of his hip flask that the miserly bastard didn't so much as offer in Sam's direction. It turned out Gene had turned up looking like, well, _Gene_ , complete with boots clomping their way down the pavement and the coat that still reminded Sam of a flea-ridden blanket he'd seen on a flea-bitten donkey on a beach in Blackpool, on holiday one year when he was still a kid. Maybe it was even _that_ year, who knew. 

Either way, Sam was fairly sure what Gene was wearing didn't qualify as a disguise in anyone's book - not even Gene's, though he got the impression from the pseudo-grimace on Gene's face as he looked him up and down that pointing that out ("that's not exactly arseless trous, guv") wouldn't've won him any Brownie points. So, he kept his mouth shut. He was already lagging behind in the Brownie points stakes anyway, since three nights before when he'd had to skip out of the pub just when it was his turn to get the drinks in. The guv didn't forgive or forget that sort of behaviour lightly.

Sam still remembered the future, the present, whatever it was since time had all started to seem sort of relative or fluid or something like that by that point. He remembered what Manchester was like then, in the future, when he was from, Pride and all that, and the bar they walked into that night wasn't a patch on it. Gene's eyes went wide as dinner plates as they went inside, past the burly doorman with the porn star moustache, and Sam couldn't quite hide a smirk. 

"You know what you're doing my arse," Sam muttered under his breath. 

Gene shot him a dirty look and mumbled _something-something-something your arse_ but really, Sam was just impressed he'd heard him, given the volume of the music. Then again maybe the guvnor was just psychic, or he expected the worst at any given moment, and honestly the latter seemed a lot more likely. Sam had seen some things in his life, but one thing he couldn't even contemplate was Gene Hunt actually inside his head.

They bought drinks from a befuddled-looking barman wearing a string vest over a bare chest who eyed them suspiciously and not without reason, then they took a seat in the most convenient darkened nearby corner. Gene didn't even take off his coat before he sat down - probably for fear of the dreaded shirt-lifter sidling up behind him, not that there was space between them and the wall for even the most determined chap to get in there. Sam just pulled off his jacket as he shook his head then slipped his hand onto Gene's thigh and he had to admit, the look on the guv's face like he was about to implode from it was absolutely classic. 

"You could've just signed off on me doing this alone, y'know," Sam pointed out, leaning so close to Gene's ear that he could actually smell his shampoo over his aftershave, which was quite a feat considering the way he seemed to slap it on. 

"And what if you'd needed backup, you silly sod?"

"We'll need backup if you don't at least try not to look like the biggest homophobe in the entire North-West," Sam replied. "I'm not exactly asking you to do the YMCA here, guv, but if you're fooling anyone, I'm a monkey's uncle." He paused and took a sip of his drink with a rather pointed look, which was somewhat difficult given how close they were sitting. "You know what? Ray might've actually been better."

Gene grimaced. Sam smiled sweetly. Slowly, like it caused him genuine physical pain and maybe it actually did, Gene put his arm around Sam's shoulders. He should've known - Gene Hunt was not to be outdone by his subordinates.

"You're getting warmer," Sam said. 

"I'll show you bloody warmer," Gene muttered. He was red right up to the tips of his ears and Sam wasn't honestly sure if it was embarrassment or anger or equal parts of both. Probably both, that was a safe bet. Definitely nothing else.

"Look, try to think of it like a game," Sam said.

Gene raised his brows. "Those the sort of games you lot played in Hyde?"

"Yes, guv, we're all queers in Hyde," Sam replied, deadpan, his hand still on Gene's thigh. "The station's one big orgy. Barely get any work done for all the buggery going on."

"Sarky sod." 

"Look who's talking."

Gene huffed. "So, a game?"

"A game." 

"What kind of game?"

"The kind where you pretend you don't find the thought of being here disgusting."

"And?"

"And you maybe pretend you _like_ it here."

"And?"

"And you maybe pretend you like _me_ , too."

"That might be a step too far." 

"Then think of it like a dare."

"A dare?"

"You know, a dare. I didn't realise this was a difficult concept."

"What kind of dare?"

"The kind where you win if you act the part and we get this finished and you don't flip your lid until the morning."

"That's not a dare, Tyler, that's a bet. Get your bloody terminology straight. Don't you have bets in Hyde?"

"Fine, then, it's a bet."

"So, what do I win?"

"Well, apart from the case?" Sam shrugged under Gene's arm and rubbed his eyes long-sufferingly. "I don't know. Whatever. Up to you, you choose." 

Gene seemed to consider this, then he nodded sharply. "I can do that," he said. "It's a bet." And he turned his head and nuzzled at Sam's temple totally without warning, which was quite the turn-up for the books. 

Sam knew better than to push. He really did, or at least he knew that in the sensible, logical portion of his brain, which he sometimes thought was the part being addled by the brain tumour or whatever the heck it was that was meant to be going on with him. He knew it was a bad idea and so they finished their drinks - yes, not particularly slowly, but with Gene Hunt's fingers brushing the side of his neck and making all his hairs stand on end he felt like he needed the liquid fortitude - and when Sam settled back down and put the new glasses on the table Gene put his arm around his shoulders again. And maybe Sam knew he shouldn't push because keeping their eyes peeled for their suspect was actually at least moderately important, but Gene was doing so infuriatingly _well_ that Sam was starting to think he should've set some sort of limit on the prize. He hadn't thought he might lose. Losing now looked like it might be on the cards.

Sam's hand on Gene's thigh inched up higher, fingertips following along his inseam. Sam shuffled closer, not quite surreptitiously, until they were pressed there flush side to side, hip to hip. Gene swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed. It was a dangerous game because God knew the guv had a temper and got a bit too free with his fists sometimes, and Sam didn't particularly want the night to end with a black eye and a split lip and the two of them getting chucked out of a gay bar while undercover. But not _very_ undercover, at least that much was true because Gene was _still_ wearing his bloody coat. But as Sam's hand got ever higher, Gene didn't so much as flinch. It was almost impressive.

"Shit," Gene said, sometime after drink number four, when Sam's hand was so high up his leg it was practically lodged in his crotch to no discernible response, "he's coming this way."

"I thought you said he wouldn't know you," Sam replied, brows raised. 

"Slight exaggeration," Gene said. "I might've nicked his old mum." 

Sam groaned. "Kiss me." 

"You what?"

"Kiss me. Before he sees you. It's not like you've got a forgettable face, guv, he's going to know you in five seconds flat."

"If that's the kind of op you boys from--"

"Oh for the love of God."

Sam kissed him instead. He pressed his mouth to Gene's and he kissed him, practically crawled into his lap because, well, at least that way no one was going to see the guv's irritating sodding face, and to his credit, Gene didn't actually flip his lid even then. Gene's hands took hold of Sam's shirt at the small of his back and pulled him in closer. Gene slipped him some tongue, which was bloody strange but at least it seemed they were going for realism and that might have even been what the situation called for. Sam shoved his hand between Gene's legs - made for a good show, at least - and Gene, to his credit, didn't actually lamp him. He just twisted his fingers really tight into Sam's short hair and grumbled low in his throat, as he broke the kiss and bit Sam's neck. 

He should really have been more surprised that he didn't mind it, maybe, except he wasn't really surprised when it came down to it. Gene was the surprised one, at least under his expression of whatever the bloody hell that expression was. Then, when he pulled back and looked at him he looked fucking appalled, but he still didn't flip. And the bloke they were tailing had just headed into the john with a lanky student type in cherry red Dr Marten's boots, so when Gene said, "We ought to go in there and see what he's up to," it almost made sense. They got up. They went in there.

They stood up from the table and they went straight in there, Sam's pulse racing like the bloody Cortina on the way to the pub. Gene pushed him into the empty cubicle out on the far end and fumbled it locked behind them and when they stood back against the walls they could hear what was going on two doors down clear as a bell. God, it was obvious what was going on and Gene's face was flushed, and probably not just because he was still wearing his coat. 

The noises from two doors down were fucking obscene and the muscle in Gene's jaw worked as he leaned there against the cubicle wall under the overly stark fluorescent lights. There wasn't exactly much space, not that space was exactly to be expected in the gents', so when Gene stepped forward it wasn't like he had a mile to go to reach him. Sam should've known better, probably should've pushed him away because it was bloody stupid and totally unnecessary except maybe it was going to look odd if two doors down was making enough noise to wake the dead and they were basically silent, like a couple of earwigging perverts. Gene pushed him up against the wall. Gene pressed his mouth to the side of Sam's neck. Gene shoved his hand between Sam's thighs and damn, he hadn't got a clue how he was meant to respond to that except to _respond_ to that. He got one hand into Gene's hair and one down to the buckle of his belt and he should've known better, oh God, he should've known about forty times better, about two hundred times better, but he unbuckled Gene's belt and shoved his hand down his trousers and the next thing he knew he had a hand full of Gene Hunt's rock-hard cock. God, he wasn't even half-hard, couldn't even say it was situational or whatever crap either of them might've been able to come up with - he could've knocked in nails with the guv's erection.

Gene groaned against Sam's neck. Gene fumbled at Sam's crotch and Sam batted his hand away so Gene got both hands to Sam's belt and unbuckled it, roughly, pulling him around by it with a frustrated grumble till he'd dragged down the fly of his jeans and dragged down his jeans over his hips so his cock jutted out all thick and red and lurid and wet at the tip like a porno under the crap fluorescent lights. Sam was almost surprised to find he was hard, too, except not really, not if he thought about it. Not that he was thinking about it. He wasn't thinking about it. Really. He wasn't.

But then two doors down were done in a storm of moaning, groaning swearwords and Sam was left standing there with his cock out while Gene re-buckled his own belt and started smoothing his hair back just like all was well. All Sam could do - or else look a prize twat, though Gene would probably've said that much couldn't be helped - was follow suit. 

When they got outside, the lads had already got their suspect nicked and Ray and Chris didn't look twice at Sam carrying his coat in front of his crotch or the odd way the guv was walking. They just bundled the fella off into the car and left the two of them standing there outside a gay bar looking at least half startled and maybe something else. Probably something else, though it didn't really bear thinking about.

"I win, yeah?" Gene said, his hands in his pockets shoving his coat forward awkwardly like maybe that'd make things less obvious.

And Sam should've said _yeah, sure, you win_ , should've conceded the point, but he'd never been good at letting things go. So what he said was, stubbornly, "Well, what I actually said was _until morning_."

Gene glanced at him. Sam glanced back. 

"I'll take that bet," Gene said, jutting his jaw as he looked at him. 

Sam had known what he was doing earlier that day when he'd said _look, I'll just go to the bar_. ( _The pansy bar?_ Ray said. _Yes, Ray, the pansy bar_.) He'd known what he was doing when Gene had said _not on your own you don't, someone's got to make sure you're not just off to get your end in_. But forty minutes and another shifty double Bell's later, flat on his back in his birthday suit with Gene Hunt's cock shoved so far up his arse he couldn't even form coherent thought, he hadn't got a fucking clue what he was doing. Gene looked amused, pumping his hips as he pushed Sam's thighs apart with the flat of his palms. Gene looked amused as he wrapped one hand round Sam's cock and stroked him with it. Gene came in him with a shout all Sam's neighbours probably heard, and Sam clamped his own hand over his mouth as he came all over Gene's. 

"Well, that escalated quickly," Sam said, feeling disconcertingly like he'd just played a game of gay chicken with the straightest man in England and then bafflingly lost somehow, while Gene was wiping his hand off on the sheets like he'd left even his usual vague, passing acquaintance with couth in the inside pocket of the coat that looked like something out of fucking _Minder_. Not that _Minder_ even existed yet so it wasn't like he'd've got the reference. 

"A bet's a bet, Sammy-boy," Gene said, as he gave Sam's cock one last squeeze for good measure. "I mean, it's not like anyone else has to know if you can keep that trap of yours from flapping." 

"I think your reputation's safe," Sam replied, dryly. "Let's just say I don't think it's likely to come up in conversation."

"And don't you go getting fruity with me in the office."

"Trust me, you're not that irresistible. I can keep my hands to myself." 

Gene fished his half-full glass of cheap booze from the bedside table and okay, so maybe for a start Sam had known what he was doing, but lying there having a conversation with Gene's cock still going soft inside him made a lot less sense. 

"Next time we'll forget the club, yeah?" Gene said. 

"Yeah, next time," Sam replied, like _next time_ made sense either. And it was a bad idea, but he supposed he'd cross that particular bridge when he came to it. Besides, from the look on Gene's face he was half intrigued to see what next time would mean. And he had to admit he was pretty sure he'd lost the bet; he was half intrigued to see what his forfeit would be.

Sam knew what he was getting into. It just turned out that apparently, for once, so did Gene.


End file.
